The Plight Of Ruby Agony
by fluffmania207
Summary: Patrick Jane is the lead singer of rock band Ruby Agony. A deranged fan begins to stalk Jane, and it is up to his manager, Kimball Cho, his PR guide, Wayne Rigsby, and two Ex government agents to protect the singer before it is too late.
1. Chapter 1

The Plight Of 'Ruby Agony'

 **A/N: This is another wandering of my mind. I hope you like it, and please give me some feedback about what you think of this idea. It is AU, and may seem a little OOC for a bit, but their true characters will be revealed.**

Chapter one

Patrick Jane struck the last chord on his electric guitar and bowed to the screaming crowd. The white shirt he wore was buttoned halfway up his chest, and the black leather pants were formfitting and skintight. These were complimented by the black studded leather jacket and matching boots he wore. His blond curls stood in a halo around his head, glowing pink in the red backlighting. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but he could still see the screaming fans below him.

As he turned to walk off of the stage, several pairs of ladies' underwear landed on the stage next to him. He hid a smile, and Patrick turned back to the crowd and waved. He lifted the guitar up into the air, and the crowd went wild. The red lights behind him dimmed, and he struck his encore chord.

After the last song, he headed off of the stage and past the aide standing behind him. He handed the guitar and sunglasses wordlessly to the silent woman and headed straight to his dressing room. As soon as the door closed, he pulled the leather jacket off and tugged the half buttoned shirt over his head. Behind him was the name of his band, emblazoned on the wall in big letters. 'Ruby Agony'. Patrick came up with the name of the heavy rock band with his manager and good friend, Kimball Cho.

The band was a huge success, helped along by the lead singer and guitarist's incredible good looks. He had young women, teenagers, even older couples, falling over themselves to meet him and to take their picture with him. The rest of his band lived in relative anonymity, and didn't mind it being that way, because they didn't take to the limelight the way Patrick had. Patrick's face covered every poster, every album cover, every ticket that was sold.

He was a hugely popular celebrity, and had a huge cult following. He was a household name, both for his expressive lyrics and his extremely good looks. There was something about his style of music and his distinct look that captivated the fans, and they always wanted more.

Patrick pulled a grey t-shirt on over his well formed chest and opened the mini bar fridge behind him. He pulled out a beer and opened it. The door opened behind him, and he turned to see who was there. It was Cho. "Patrick," he said, entering the room and shutting the door. "That was a stellar performance tonight. A record breaking crowd, and they loved it out there."

Patrick smiled. "Wayne can give me the numbers later."

Cho nodded. The concert planner and "fan handler", Wayne Rigsby, was currently handing out pre-signed photos of Patrick to masses of screaming girls. He would be back at the dressing room later to break down Patrick's performance. In the meantime, Patrick stayed in his dressing room. There wasn't much else he needed to do until it was time to go.

While he waited, he peeled his leather pants off and hung them on the rack in the corner. He pulled on a pair of jeans and some sneakers. He took a swig of his beer. He turned to the door as it opened, and Rigsby entered. At six ft four, wearing a suit and sunglasses, he was the perfect man to keep the fans at bay. He pulled his glasses off and handed a large bag to Patrick.

"Fan mail for you, Patrick."

Patrick nodded and put the beer down. There was a box at the entrance that fans could use to get their letters to the rock star. He pulled the envelopes out of the bag and began to sift through them. He read some of them, and laughed at what they said. He appreciated the attention. But there was one letter that stood out from the rest. The envelope was blood red, and his name had been printed neatly onto the front in black ink.

Patrick curiously ripped it open and pulled out the paper. In stark contrast, the paper was crisp and white. He unfolded the paper and read what was written.

"My dearest Patrick,  
I know you see this a lot, but I am truly your biggest fan. You are everything to me. I only see you when I sleep, and I only think about you when I am awake. I want you to love me as much as I love you.  
You are literally my everything, Patrick. I need you to survive. If I can't have you, I would rather die instead.  
I love you like you were my last breath.  
Love from,  
your biggest fan."

Patrick reread the letter, before frowning. "Wayne," he said. "Come look at this."

Rigsby wandered over to him and took the letter from his friend. He read it too, and also frowned. "This is scary."

Patrick took a nervous swig of his beer. He had had obsessed fans in the past, but this one was the worst they had received. This person, whoever it was, was borderline manic in their obsession. He didn't like the feeling it gave him, to read that letter.

After a few more minutes of silence with Rigsby, Cho opened the door. "We are ready to go."

Patrick nodded, and scooped the letters into the bag. He would read them all later. Cho and Rigsby escorted him down the hallway and out to the waiting limo. The driver wove out into traffic as hordes of paparazzi followed them with their cameras.

Soon, they were outside the Jane residence in Malibu. The high wall and electric gate were little deterrence for the extremely dedicated fans, but there were generally few problems with wayward fans. The gate closed behind the limo, and the large vehicle disappeared into the garage. The door shut behind them, and Patrick climbed out. They all went into his house together, and Patrick threw the bag of fan mail down onto the coffee table in the middle of his living room. As Rigsby and Cho disappeared into the back of the house to discuss figures for the evening, Patrick pulled the letter out again.

There was no return address, and there was no name. Just "your biggest fan". He rested back against the couch and shut his eyes. Gigs always left him drained. What felt like a few moments later, he opened his eyes to find the room in darkness. There was a blanket draped over him, and he was alone. He lay down on the couch and swiftly dropped back off to sleep.

He was awakened early the next morning by a knock on the door. He sat up, his hair in disarray, and he staggered to the door. He opened it to find Cho on the other side. Cho looked at him, his expression blank. "You look terrible."

Patrick smoothed down his hair. "Good morning to you too, Kimball."

Patrick turned and walked back into the living room, and Cho followed behind with a bemused expression on his face. Patrick walked through to the kitchen and fixed himself a pot of green tea. He needed to wake up. Cho came through behind him holding the crisp paper and the red envelope. "What is this, Patrick?"

Patrick shrugged. "It came last night in the fan mail. Creeped me out completely. I thought you might want to see it."

Cho held it up to the light, and examined it closely. He didn't like it one bit. The door opened again, and Rigsby entered. He clutched some mail, and a large package. He tossed the mail onto the kitchen counter, and placed the package next to it.

Jane stepped over to it, and looked it over. It had his house address, and his name printed onto it. As he went to cut the tape open, Cho stopped him. He pointed to some writing in the corner. It said, "From your biggest fan."

Rigsby was looking at the package, and something made his heart drop into his shoes. "Patrick, down!" he yelled, pulling the blonde rock star onto the kitchen floor.

Cho trusted his friend's instinct, and followed. Patrick was confused as his friends dragged him into the next room. Cho looked at his tall, dark haired friend. "What was that?"

Wayne turned to look at him, his face white. "That is a bomb."

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Ex-FBI agent Teresa Lisbon sat at her desk. She had some work to do, before another assignment prevented her from catching up on her admin. Her friend and business partner, ex-CIA agent Grace Van Pelt, sat at another desk opposite her. She too was finishing off the last of her paperwork from the day before.

Lisbon had left the FBI six months previously after some complications at work. She had filed a sexual harassment charge against her former boss, who had tried to grope her one night at the office while they were alone. Instead of the agency firing her boss, they had asked her to leave to avoid any bad publicity for the agency.

Van Pelt had worked for the CIA, and had been the main liaison with the FBI on joint investigations. Consequently, she had become close to Lisbon over the course of work. Van Pelt had been working with her fiancé, also an FBI agent named Craig O'Laughlin, on a case where an internal leak was revealing information to a drug cartel. On a sting, it was accidentally revealed to Van Pelt that her fiancé was the leak, and he had tried to kill her. She had had no choice but to shoot him. The trauma had been too much, and she had left the CIA for good.

Lisbon had contacted her, and the two of them were now in private practice together. They were specialty, and worked for those who would prefer that their affairs not be made public.

Their day had barely started, when Lisbon's desk phone rang. She picked it up. "LvP Services. Lisbon speaking."

The voice on the other end of the line was calm, but the words were chilling. She hung up the phone, and stood up. Van Pelt looked up at her. "We going somewhere?"

Lisbon nodded. "That was Kimball Cho. There's been a situation."

Van Pelt's eyes widened in surprise. Kimball Cho was associated with a rock star that had become very popular in recent months. "Kimball Cho?"

Lisbon nodded, and Van Pelt stood up. She grabbed the gun out of her desk drawer. She followed her partner out of the office and into the elevator. The two of them rode down in silence and walked over to Lisbon's car.

They rode out to Malibu, and soon reached a beautiful house facing the beach. The gate opened, and they drove up a long driveway to the house. There were three men standing outside waiting for them. Lisbon got out and headed over to them. Van Pelt followed behind her, and stopped next to the dark haired woman. Lisbon raced through introductions, and then looked over at Cho. "It's been a while, Kimball. What is it this time?"

Cho's face turned slightly grim. He used to work in law enforcement with local police, and had worked with Lisbon on several high profile cases. That was until he left to go into the music industry.

Cho looked at the two women in front of him. "It looks like we have a bomb, ladies."

Lisbon nodded. She entered the house, with her partner close behind her. She headed to the kitchen and spotted the box. She could see the wires in the tape, and knew that if the tape had been sliced, the bomb would have detonated. Fortunately, Lisbon's job at the FBI had required her to perform six month's training in the bomb disposal unit. She had trained hard, and finished top of her class.

Within minutes, the bomb was disarmed, and the three men could enter again. Patrick strode over to the teapot and poured his tea. He sipped it, a little annoyed that it was lukewarm. Rigsby and Cho headed over to the box. Lisbon cut the tape and pulled the box open. Inside sat at contraption with wires and lights. Lisbon carefully removed the charge from the box, and placed it next to the box on the counter. "C4," she murmured. "You're lucky you saw the wires before Mr Jane cut the tape. This would have taken you all out before you even blinked."

Cho looked at the woman. "Professional?"

Lisbon shook her head. "The C4 is low quality. And the workmanship is shoddy. But it would have done the job."

Patrick looked up from his tea. He hadn't been listening to the conversation. The fact that these women were even in his house irritated him immensely. He wanted to go and shower, not hang around here looking at this thing on his counter. Cho turned to him. "Patrick, you don't need to hang around here. We just need to wrap up some stuff here."

Patrick nodded and disappeared up the nearby staircase. Lisbon watched him disappear, before turning back to Cho and Rigsby. "What sparked this?" she waved her hand at the bomb in front of her.

Cho beckoned for her to follow him into the living room. Rigsby and Van Pelt followed them. They all sat on the sofa, and Cho handed the letter to Lisbon. She read it, and then passed it on to Van Pelt. Van Pelt had forensic psychology training through the CIA. She was the top agent in her team, and was highly skilled. She read the letter carefully, and frowned. "Did this have a return address?"

Cho shook his head. "It was delivered anonymously into Patrick's fan mail box. No name, no return address."

Van Pelt put the letter back down on the table. "We have a serious problem."

Rigsby frowned. "Why?"

Van Pelt looked straight at him. "If that box is from the same person who wrote this letter, this isn't going to stop. Not any time soon."

She stood up, and went through to the kitchen with the letter. She returned moments later, her face grim. Lisbon knew that Van Pelt had confirmed the bomb and the letter were from the same person.

Lisbon turned to Cho. "Have you had any other letters like this before?"

Cho stood up and disappeared into a back room. He came back with a file and handed it to Van Pelt. Inside were about forty letters, all creepy. Cho and Lisbon continued to discuss the letters and the vibe of the fans, and Van Pelt began to sift through the letters. Three stood out to her, and she put them one side. She looked them over and frowned. The paper was all the same, and Van Pelt was certain the handwriting was the same.

"This is not good."

The other three looked at her, and Patrick, who had just re-entered the room, also paused to look at her. "What isn't good?"

Van Pelt looked up at him. "Mr Jane, your life is in danger."

Rigsby looked at her. "What kind of danger, Ms Van Pelt?"

She looked at him, and took a deep breath. "Very grave danger."

 **A/N2: Thanks for reading the start of this new story. Please let me know what you think. Thanks.**


	2. Chapter 2

The Plight Of 'Ruby Agony'

 **A/N: I must** **apologise** **for being away for so long. I can offer no explanation except that things kind of went off the rails. Anyway, I'm back for now. A belated thank you to those who reviewed, favourited or followed. I appreciate the actions.**

Chapter two

Patrick raised an eyebrow at the women in front of him. In his opinion, they were overreacting. There was no way he was in as great a danger as they predicted. Cho opened his mouth before Patrick could say anything. "These letters," he gestured to the four letters on the table between them, "you're sure they came from the same person?"

Van Pelt nodded. "Syntax, word usage, even certain aspects of the handwriting, all indicates one very obsessive person is writing to Mr Jane."

Rigsby sat back in his chair. "Majority of the fans seem normal. One or two weirdoes, but that's normal really. Nothing stands out really as awkward."

Lisbon picked up the most recent letter. "It wouldn't. We're talking about a complete sociopath, devoid of emotion at its basest sense. But, they can pretend, and pretend well. Enough to pass for almost completely normal."

Patrick stood up abruptly and went to the nearest window. Floor to ceiling glass, it looked out over the ocean, affording a wide panoramic view that was unobstructed. "I'm not walking away from my next show. That would disappoint my fans."

Lisbon glanced over at Van Pelt. Both women were well schooled in risk assessment, and both knew that any kind of argument against the rock star would be futile. Aside from his good looks and songs, another aspect of him that wasn't as well known was his almost unbreakable will. Lisbon only knew because she and Cho had been in contact. He normally asked her advice concerning the star's safety.

Patrick knew nothing of their communications. He seemed concerned with little, preferring to busy himself with entertaining his ever-growing fan base. His first hit, 'It Can't Be Love if You Walk Away' had shot to the top of the charts in less than two weeks. That had turned him into a household name almost immediately.

Rigsby scowled. "Patrick, it's not safe. This is escalating. You can't risk it."

Patrick turned to face them. "I can and I will. You can't stop me from keeping my fans happy."

Lisbon's cell phone rang. She went outside to take the call, leaving Van Pelt alone with the three men. She turned to the three of them. "We will do what we can, but Mr Jane, it really is better if you try stay out of the limelight as much as possible."

Patrick flashed his megawatt grin at her, attempting to charm her. "Of course, Ms Van Pelt. But then you can explain to my adoring fans why I will not be performing. I can imagine you would be quite popular, especially with the teenaged girls."

Van Pelt held her ground, drawing on her reserve of will that had helped her shoot Craig to protect her own life. "With all due respect, _Mr Jane_ , your fans would appreciate you alive and in one piece. As this morning clearly showed, that is not always guaranteed."

Before Patrick could shoot back a harsh reply, Lisbon returned. Her face was a little pale, and she looked pointedly at Patrick before turning to Van Pelt. "Grace, we need to go. Now."

Van Pelt knew something was wrong, so she nodded her goodbyes to the men, and headed for the door behind her friend. Once they were in the car, Lisbon's cherry red 1969 Chevy Camaro, Van Pelt turned to her. "What's up?"

Lisbon's face was grim. "We have a situation down at the arena Jane performed at last night. A serious one."

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Cho cut the call. He turned to face Rigsby, who had just finished his fourth cup of coffee in less than an hour. "You need to calm down with the coffee."

Rigsby nodded, not really listening. "What's the verdict?"

Cho looked over to where Patrick stood, cup of tea balanced on the railing beside him. "It looks like it was the same person who sent the package, the letters. Teresa and Grace are there now."

Rigsby shook his head. "This has escalated quickly."

Cho agreed. What Lisbon had reported back to her friend was alarming. A janitor at the arena had been doing the rounds – cleaning the various bathrooms – when he came across something in the ladies' room on level three. Level three was restricted; VIP passes only.

In the bathroom, on the wall and on the mirror, were hundreds of magazine cutouts of Patrick, as well as photographs that were taken by someone who had been following him. Not in the way the paparazzi did, with their fleeting shots on the street and at various ordinary locations around Malibu. This had a creepier tone.

The main reason for the difference was the fact that half of the pictures seemed to have been taken before Patrick's first single hit the charts. He was virtually unknown back then, and there was no reason for the existence of those pictures. But there they were, plastered up on a restricted-access bathroom wall. Next to them, on the mirror, were words, scrawled in red matte-finish lipstick. "I have always loved you, Patrick. You will be mine. There is no other choice."

Cho looked at the photos Lisbon had sent through to him. "Wayne," he said, seriously. "We are out of our depth here. However, Teresa and Grace are the best for this. I suggest we call them in."

Rigsby watched as Patrick shut his eyes against the bright sunlight. "I agree. He's not safe otherwise."

Cho looked over at the rock star. "Those women rub him the wrong way. This won't be a fun ride."

Cho silently agreed. The rock star had seemed to make the lives of any woman who tried to enter his inner circle of friends hell. Cho had a feeling that these two women would take no shit from him. Heads would butt, he was sure.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Patrick picked up his electric guitar and began to run through his chords for his next concert. It helped take his mind off the recent creepy activities going on. He had no idea what had happened at the arena, just that it was bad. Patrick figured Cho would tell him when he was ready. Until then, anything that was kept from him was for his own good. The less he knew, the less it could affect his performance.

The two agents who had come by the house that morning, they intrigued him. Not for any reason other than he had some idea exactly what would get them riled up the quickest. The redhead was easy. The former charlatan and conman – a part of Patrick than never really went away – had seen how Rigsby had looked at her. It would be child's play to push her buttons.

The other one, Teresa, she would be a bit more difficult. But he would push her, and push her hard. They could not be in his life. It was dangerous, for all five of them. All at once, a new song began to form in his mind on the heels of that thought. He put the guitar to one side, practice forgotten, and began to write. His hand flew furiously over the paper, and a bare five minutes later, he was finished with his next masterpiece.

' _You need to run,  
Need to hide.  
Don't compete,  
with the things inside._

 _It's far too late,  
can't you see?  
It's no use saving  
someone like me._

 _Where my heart should be,_

 _There's nothing but dust,  
Ground to powder,  
Reduced to rust.  
Trust me, baby,  
I'm unsaveable,  
There's nothing you can do,  
I'm unsaveable._

 _What use am  
I to you?_

 _It's all destroyed;  
and fallen through._

 _There's nowhere to hide  
when you see fire.  
Nowhere to run,  
as it climbs higher._

 _Where my heart should be,_

 _There's nothing but dust,  
Ground to powder,  
Reduced to rust.  
Trust me, baby,  
I'm unsaveable,  
There's nothing you can do,  
I'm unsaveable._

 _It's all ash,  
broken and destroyed.  
There's nothing there  
inside the void._

 _Where my heart should be,_

 _There's nothing but dust,  
Ground to powder,  
Reduced to rust.  
Trust me, baby,  
I'm unsaveable,  
There's nothing you can do,  
I'm unsaveable._

 _Unsaveable._

Patrick decided to practice, figuring he might as well occupy his mind with the intricacies of composing. It was better than the nagging realization that maybe these women who had so abruptly entered his life might not scare as easily as the others.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Van Pelt glanced over at the creepy collage again. "How did we land this? We only started working with Patrick Jane this morning."

Lisbon nodded. "The janitor is an old friend. He knows I deal with stuff like this, for famous people. It was a coincidence that we were on the case already."

Both women glanced back at the disturbing clutter of photos once more. Things were definitely going to be tough on this assignment.

 **A/N2: Again, sorry about the delay. Several things I do need to mention. Firstly, I** **apologise** **if any song lyrics mentioned here already exist. I don't intend on any copy write infringement. Also, Jane is a bit of an ass for now, but I assure you it's all part of the master plan. Thanks for reading.**


	3. Chapter 3

The Plight Of 'Ruby Agony'

 **A/N: I apologise for the delay. My laptop broke and I only recently got a new one.**

Chapter three

Lisbon pulled her Chevy back into Jane's driveway later that afternoon. The scene in the arena bathroom had been processed, and cleaned up by a crime scene tech friend who owed Van Pelt a favour. The two women exited the car, and headed inside to debrief Cho and Rigsby concerning the scene.

Inside, they found Rigsby and Cho in the living room, deep in discussion about security protocols and various other topics. Jane was out on the balcony, playing his guitar and singing to himself. He ignored the two women inside, and so the four enforcers settled into the large room to discuss the next move.

Cho agreed with Rigsby's assessment that the biggest risks would be at concerts, where anybody could fire a gun from the crowd. The main question was how somebody had managed to get into the VIP bathroom with security crawling all over the place. As they discussed possible entry points, Lisbon couldn't shake a niggling suspicion that they were missing an important detail. Before she could bring it up, the door to the balcony opened.

As they continued the conversation, Jane wandered into the room and shut the door behind him. He was only half listening to the conversation – the music still running through his mind – as he made himself a pot of tea. His safety was clearly the topic at hand. He couldn't understand the appeal in shooting him, since the shooter would be trampled by the crowd at the first indication of gunshots.

Cho looked up at Jane, his face expressionless. "You don't think you will be shot?"

Jane shrugged. He had given up wondering how Cho could read him so well. Cho was a cop after all. "I think it would be stupid on the part of this 'mystery stalker' to shoot me. Every other incident has been close quarters. The letters, the bomb, whatever the hell you two vanished to go see." He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of Lisbon and Van Pelt.

Van Pelt nodded, suddenly picking up the thought. "So why change it up and shoot? It's so impersonal, when everything else has been anything but."

Jane smiled his charming smile at the woman, who didn't so much as blink. Jane hid his surprise; very few women were immune to that smile. He could see deep sadness in her, but couldn't figure out the loss. There would be time later for that. "So I think you guys can rule out a gun. It just doesn't fit."

Lisbon looked at him. "What do you think it will be then, Mr Jane?"

Jane shrugged, an easy smile on his face. "That's what you guys are here for, Teresa. I'm just a rock star, after all."

Lisbon just raised an eyebrow, but turned back to Cho. "We need to do a risk assessment on the next concert before Mr Jane performs. We can't risk an attack because we're unprepared. I have contacts I can call for blue prints…"

Jane stood up, taking his tea with him. "While you lot are busy doing this, for whatever reason, I will be downstairs seeking to entertain my fans."

Cho nodded, and the group watched as he vanished through a door set into the far wall. "Recording studio. He'll be down there for hours."

Lisbon nodded, and the discussion continued. The thought that had nagged at the back of her mind earlier returned in full force, and she picked up a blown up photograph of the creepy collage. "I don't get how this person had photos of Jane from before he became popular. That just makes no sense."

Cho looked at Rigsby, and then both looked across the coffee table at the two women on the other side. "Do you know the official history of Patrick Jane and Ruby Agony? The one we released on the official websites."

Lisbon and Van Pelt nodded. The official story was that Jane came from a small town back east, and worked at creating Ruby Agony with a group of friends. They exploded onto the scene after their first single went viral. Cho nodded. "That's not the full story. But what we say here has to stay in this room. The fans can't know the real story. Hell, only about five people know the real story."

Both women nodded. They were used to dealing with sensitive information. It was just part of the job, and both women understood that. Cho looked at Rigsby, who sat forwards in his seat. "Patrick came from somewhere in the Midwest, with his wife. Both from the carnival circuit that travels the area. They moved to southern California, and Patrick worked as a fake psychic, ripping off the rich and famous. Cho met him through the police service, when Patrick helped out with a case involving a missing woman. He was good. Really good. Managed to find the woman in record time. He stayed on with the force, and put a lot of people away."

Cho nodded. "About three years later, we got a call. Patrick's wife had been murdered. Shot in their home, right in front of him. They never caught the killer. We were there for him, but he went into seclusion for over a year. We kept tabs on him, but he didn't contact us. One day, I got a call. Jane was setting up a band, and needed a manager. He wanted me to do it, and offered to pay me a lot more than I was getting as a cop."

Rigsby picked up the story again. "They came up with the band name together, and the first single was released the next month. It shot to the top, and he's been huge ever since. That was close to eighteen months ago."

Lisbon nodded, listening. "So you think this could be linked, either to what he used to do as a psychic…"

"…or to the death of his wife." Completed Van Pelt.

Both men nodded. "Patrick doesn't know about the collage, obviously. We keep some stuff from him to protect his 'creative muse'." Lisbon could have sworn Cho rolled his eyes. "It stresses him out, though he hides it well. He mourns his wife, and she is the inspiration for his most heartbreaking songs."

Both women nodded. "Where do we go from here?"

Cho looked at Lisbon. "Can you play a guitar?"

XxxxxxxxxxxX

That next Saturday, Jane stood in the wings of the stage. He looked over at the woman next to him. Her mirrored sunglasses hid her emerald eyes from him, but he could still see her nerves seeping through the façade. "I really don't see how this is a good idea," he said over the blare of the opening band. "You can't play, and somebody might notice one extra player on the stage."

Lisbon looked down at her leather pants, studded jacket and heeled boots, and fought a shudder. "Mr Jane. You need one of us with you on stage. And besides, the rest of your band stands in the shadows. The crowd can't even see them."

Jane looked at this woman again, and scowled at her reasoning. He had been pressing for the last week, but couldn't find any way to get to the two women who had moved into his house. Van Pelt was cold, and she seemed impervious to anything. Lisbon tended to blush every so often, but there was nothing more he could get from her. It was like they were trained against him.

The opening band finished, and left the stage to the roar of the crowd. Jane shot Lisbon his trademark megawatt grin, and then ran out onto the stage.

Lisbon followed with the rest of the band, and positioned herself in a blue-tinged shadow. The bass guitar she carried wasn't plugged in, and so she could pretend to play without ruining the song. Behind the guitar, her gun was strapped to her hip. At that moment, Jane hit the opening chord for his first song, and the crowd went berserk. "I really don't think this was a good idea."

The speaker crackled in her ear. "Just stay in the shadow and follow the rest of the band."

Cho's voice in her ear was calming, and he gave her instructions on how to stand and move. The concert passed in a blur of noise and screaming, and soon Jane was signing off and bowing to screaming fans. Lisbon watched as four pairs of underwear made their way onto the stage. She followed the band off and handed her guitar to the woman waiting in the wings who had taken the other instruments.

Jane stalked ahead of his bodyguard, and stepped back as she entered his dressing room behind him. "You shouldn't be in here, Teresa."

Lisbon ignored her charge, and methodically searched the room and adjoining bathroom. Once she was satisfied it was empty, she turned to him. "It's clear."

Jane rolled his eyes. "I figured as much. So will you leave so I can get changed?"

Lisbon moved to the door and folded her arms. "I don't need to go anywhere."

Jane smiled at her, but Lisbon could see it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Suit yourself."

At that, Jane turned his back on the ex agent and pulled his shirt off. The agent fought a blush as the muscle in Jane's back rippled, and shut her eyes against the sensory onslaught. She held it for five minutes, and jumped slightly when Jane's hand brushed her arm. "You can open your eyes, Teresa. I'm decent now."

Lisbon's eyes flew open, and met a pair of sparkling blue eyes that seemed lit from within. Jane took a step back. Lisbon's eyes flicked to the pile of leather clothing on the floor. "You need to clean up."

Jane grinned. "Neat freak, Teresa? I suppose I should have expected that from a Catholic girl."

Lisbon shook her head. Cho had briefed her and Van Pelt on Jane's many techniques to unsettle those who attempted to breach the small circle of people around him. The guess she was Catholic wasn't difficult, not when she wore a gold cross around her neck. "Just do what you normally do and pretend I'm not here."

Jane's grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "How can I do that when my space is invaded? I can't focus or unwind when you're watching me."

Lisbon scowled and glared at the infuriating rock star. "I am here to make sure you are safe, Mr Jane. Or would you prefer to die at the hands of the crazed individual who is stalking you?"

Lisbon could see her words had hit a mark. Jane's face closed off, and he folded his arms. "You're disrupting my concentration. It's bad enough you followed me on stage. Now you want to hang around here while I work?"

Lisbon didn't move. "I'm not going anywhere. So you have a choice; you either do stuff while I'm here, or you pull up a chair, take out a beer, and do nothing."

Jane returned Lisbon's glare, and the two realised they were locked in a stalemate. Neither would budge.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

The next morning found Lisbon sitting on the balcony facing the ocean. The sky was gradually growing lighter above her, and she sipped a cup of strong black coffee. The door opened behind her, and she turned to find Van Pelt in the doorway. Lisbon smiled at her friend, and waved the younger woman out to sit next to her.

Van Pelt joined her partner, and they watched the grey water in the comfortable silence that existed between the two old friends. Ten minutes later, Van Pelt turned to Lisbon. "I heard you and Patrick got into it last night after the show."

Lisbon shut her eyes. "I hate rock stars." She turned to her friend, who was trying to hide her smile. "Why do we do this again?"

Van Pelt couldn't hide her smile at the question her ever practical friend had been asking since they had gone private. "Because celebrities pay lots of money to not die."

Lisbon laughed at the dry response. "Yes, I just wish I didn't have to put up with his crap."

The two women continued to sit on the balcony, when the front door began to rattle. Both women shot to their feet, coffee abandoned.

Lisbon pulled out her gun and crept to the front door. Van Pelt stayed in the kitchen area, covering her partner. They both watched the door handle rattle, and then the door jerked.

Once.

Twice.

Nothing.

And then the door flew open.


End file.
